


Caretaking

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Misha Collins, First Time, Guilty Jensen Ackles, Hurt Misha Collins, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Protecive Jensen Ackles, Shower Sex, prank gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 11:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18799420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It was just a prank, but it’s only after, when Jensen sees Misha’s reaction, that he realises what a stupid, cruel idea it was.When he follows Misha, to try and check he’s okay, to make it up to him, he doesn’t know where that will end up leading them.





	Caretaking

Misha stomps ahead of him, every inch of him tense; if he were a cat, Jensen knows he’d be hissing and spitting right now, fur standing up, ready to bite and claw.

But it’s more than just anger; it’s hurt, and it’s frustration, and he’s putting out _leave me alone_ vibes that are probably getting picked up in the lobby.

Even so, he’s not going to do that. This is on him, and he can’t bear that Misha’s hurt at all, never mind because it’s down in part to him, Jensen, being such a dumbass.

“Misha,” he starts, but then Misha reaches his room, slams the card into the reader, and the door is getting shut in his face.

Jensen has to race those last few steps and just manages to get the toe of his shoe over the threshold enough to stop the door closing on him, locking him out.

His heart’s racing because he’s never, never seen Misha like this and he’s starting to get scared that maybe this time he’s crossed a line he can’t just step back across.

He opens the door, goes in, shuts it over behind him.

Misha’s shirt and jeans are hanging over the side of the laundry hamper, and he can see from here just how bad the marks are. It’s going to take more than a specialist clean to get those out, and what the hell was he thinking when he laughed at what they were planning to do, on stage at a con no less, because it sounded like a good idea?

 _Fuck you, Jensen_ , he snaps at himself. _Seriously, fuck you. What kind of shitty friend are you?_

And if it’s going to be that hard to get those stains, or impossible, out of Misha’s clothes…

He knocks once on the bathroom door, can hear water running, but nothing else, not a ‘go away, Jensen,” so he goes in.

Misha’s standing in his boxers by the sink, scrubbing frantically at the purple smear across his cheek, neck, and where the gunk chucked at him soaked through his shirt.

His skin’s red and sore already, but Jensen can see the stains themselves haven’t shifted.

“Misha,” he says, and it’s _please stop, you’re hurting yourself_ and _I’m sorry, I should have stopped them_ and _tell me what I need to do to make this up to you, to help_ all pushed into that one word.

Misha turns, and his eyes are as red as his skin.

“On set. On set, I get it, it’s just _us_ , I’m used to it, and I know you’ll stop eventually because people want to do their jobs and _go home_.

“But here? When half your _fans_ already think you hate me? Is that it, Jensen? Do you?”

 _Fuck_.

For a moment, he can feel Dean rising like a shark to the surface and he pushes him down hard. He is not Dean Winchester and he is not going respond to being called out on a big fucking mistake by going on the attack because he can’t manage to apologize and admit when he’s screwed up.

“I don’t hate you, Misha. You know I don’t. You’re family to me.”

Misha shoots him a look and then tosses the stained face cloth into the soapy water in the sink, splashing it over the mirror. He braces his hands on the unit, and slumps forward, head hanging.

“I don’t feel like your family, right now, Jensen.”

Jensen approaches him slowly, like he’s closing in on a wounded, hurt animal, and that’s not wrong, but Misha’s wounded because of him, and Jensen can’t be sure he’s allowed to offer Misha anything except what, honestly, is a pretty useless ‘I’m sorry’.

Misha doesn’t an apology. He _needed_ Jensen to step up, for once, and not let him get pranked in front of hundreds of people.

“I screwed up,” he says. He picks up the washcloth, and rings it out, and turns Misha towards him. Misha lets him, but he’s guarded, eyes fixed on Jensen as if he can’t trust him.

That hurts more than Jensen can put into words.

“I shouldn’t have let them do that.”

He dabs lightly, ineffectually, at the purple stains on Misha’s skin, wincing when he sees just how abraded it is now after Misha’s scrubbing at it.

“What even is this stuff, anyway?”

Jensen feels a hot shame bite into him, gnawing deeper with every moment. “I don’t know….. The special effects guys tossed something together….”

“Right. Of course you don’t know.”

Holy shit, what if it had been something Misha would be allergic to?

Jensen puts the cloth down. He has no right to be in here, when he can’t find even the lamest excuse for being such an ass.

Except he knows none of them meant to hurt him. It’s how they show affection, but he knows that doesn’t mean they never cross the line. 

Today they didn’t so much cross it as stampede right over it and Misha got trampled underfoot.

He steps back, because all he’s doing here is making things worse.

But then Misha’s hand grabs his, tight and desperate, and he sees a neediness on Misha’s face that he gets.

Misha has nobody else here, except the people who did this to him. Who else can he reach out to?

Which just goes to show how shitty his options are, and makes Jensen feel he’s the worst friend ever.

“Just...help me, okay?”

Jensen nods. He can’t think of anything but a shower to get those marks off, or even just lift them a little, and he broke this, so yeah, like Dean said once, he’s bought it, and to be honest...the thought of anybody else helping Misha like this…

It’s his job. Misha’s his responsibility, even if he hadn’t helped make the current situation come about.

“I’ll start the shower,” he says and then, as he’s passing, not quite knowing why, he kisses Misha gently on the temple.

He doesn’t miss how Misha tenses right up, like he’s expecting something else, and Jensen isn’t sure if there’s a point at which he just can’t hate himself any more.

++

Being naked around each other is no big deal; he’s cupped Misha’s balls, snuck into his trailer before to turn his hot water off in the middle of a shower, swatted his ass on more than one occasion.

Of course, now all those things are cast in a different light in his head, and he’s wondering just how many times Misha laughed it off only to drop the mask when he was alone.

Has he done this to Misha before? Left him feeling so isolated and hurt?

He can feel his lip trembling as he slowly runs a soapy hot cloth over Misha’s face, neck and chest, grateful that Misha’s eyes are closed.

He takes that as a sign of trust, but probably it just means Misha doesn’t want soap in his eyes.

The colour lifts a little from his skin, but it’s still pretty obvious somebody tipped a bucket full of purple goo over him today.

“It’s better,” he says, which isn’t a lie, but it feels like it is.

Misha opens his eyes, and stares at him, probably sees there that _better_ is still _purple_.

“Okay,” he says, just quiet, and accepting, and he sounds so tired of everything.

“It’ll never happen again,” Jensen says. His words are running into each other, none of his usual infamous calm showing now. “I’ll make sure of it, fuck, Misha, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I let them, I’m sorry I laughed, I never, _never_ thought you’d be this hurt, I’m an asshole, please, please, don’t…”

Because he knows Misha can sink under things, that strong as he is, he has his chinks and this is one of them, and knowing that Jensen has still been party to, or permissive of, some shitty behaviour around him, all under the banner of ‘being part of the gang’.

He only shuts up when Misha’s mouth is suddenly on his, nothing demanding, nothing pushy, just gentle and calming, and reassuring.

He stops speaking, almost stops breathing, and then Misha eases back, and rests a hand on his chest.

“Jensen. In, out. With me, okay?”

Oh, so he _has_ stopped breathing.

He follows Misha for a minute, slow inhale/exhale until he doesn’t feel like he’s going to pass out.

“You, uh….”. He has to say something, and his head is still a little rocked. “You always kiss people out of panic attacks?”

Misha smiles, but it’s still got that trace of hurt beneath it. “Not as a rule, but it worked, didn’t it? And…. You’re washing me naked in the shower. I kind of figured…. We were headed in that direction.”

Jensen isn’t sure how his head managed to skip over the fact that yes, two naked guys in a shower is a whole lot different than the apparent lack of physical boundaries when they’re teasing the hell out of each other, or puppy piling it on the sofa in somebody’s trailer to watch the football, but had it not then yes…. 

He knows, suddenly, that this is where they’ve been heading.

And now they’re here. 

When he kisses Misha, he isn’t rough but he owns it. He eases him back against the wall, cups his face, licks into Misha’s mouth.

Misha moans against him, pushing forward, trying to get as much of himself into contact with Jensen as he can.

Jensen breaks the kiss to shush him. “It’s okay,” he says, gentle, quiet. “Misha, I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can see the moment of doubt in Misha’s eyes; of course, hadn’t Misha trusted Jensen to take care of him before, and how many times has he actually done so?

But Misha doesn’t resist when Jensen soaps his hand up, and takes hold of them both, and then moves, building urgently until Misha comes, fingers biting into Jensen’s shoulders, and then he’s following, slumping forward until his forehead is resting against Misha’s, and he can feel Misha’s hand rubbing gently against the back of his neck.

They stand there, letting the water wash them clean, before Jensen turns it off.

He grabs one of the big towels, and wraps it around Misha, uses the edge to pat his hair down, take off some of the damp.

Once he has another wrapped around his waist, he leads Misha out into the bedroom.

Damp though they are, Jensen guides Misha down to to bed, and blankets him with his own body.

“You have another panel,” Misha murmurs. He looks on the verge of sleep, which wasn’t what Jensen had in mind, but he’s okay with that, with just holding Misha until he wakes up.

“In a while,” Jensen says. And if he ends up running late…. 

He’s okay with that, too.


End file.
